In the Hallway & In the Study
by CeeCeeSings
Summary: A tiny, fluffy Chelsie moment, inspired by her heartfelt speech about their wedding venue in that posh drawing room.


The Hallway & the Study

 **A/N: This just sorta popped into my head, a little Chelsie one-off. I hope you all enjoy it.** **~CeeCee**

When she began speaking to his lordship, his ladyship, Lady Mary, even Mrs. Crawley, he'd been _mortified._ Had she no dignity? No sense of _propriety_? _Why_ must she do this? Behave in this...this...ungrateful way? He was deeply embarrassed.

However...as she continued to speak, plainly but respectfully, of the wedding she wanted, not just for herself, but for _them,_ for _all_ of the people in their lives, something shifted inside of his heart.

He gazed at her, her neat, tidy, much-loved figure, the focus of all in the room, himself included. He watched her, yes, but she didn't look over at him. Not until she spoke their names, in tandem:

"...it's about us, Charles Carson, and Elsie Hughes..."

The tightness in her features loosened, a small smile curved one corner of her mouth, and she caught his eye. He saw the frustration and fire and affection and, yes, _love_ in her expression.

He was suddenly embarrassed for a _different_ reason, all his own. She saw the change in his eyes, noticed it in a way that no one else in this room, in this house, in the _world,_ ever could.

"I don't mind the schoolhouse," he said, and her face opened, like a flower.

After, he escorted her into the hallway. Cleared his throat. He must go back, presently. She turned to face him, about five feet away. She didn't speak. Perhaps, she was out of words for the moment.

He cleared his throat again. Sometimes, the simplest truths were the hardest to say. "I was wrong." They finally came from his mouth.

Her face changed again, fully bloomed. She held his gaze, her half-smile reappearing.

"Thank you," she said, at last, then headed down the grand staircase, and out of sight.

oooOOOooo

Once she returned downstairs, she retired to her study, leaving the door slightly ajar, for the usual interruptions of the evening, and – of course – to be alerted to when he returned downstairs.

She'd not realized how important it was to her, to be acknowledged. For who she was, outside of this house. For who she would be, once she was married. It would be an adjustment for her, to be certain, to shift her center. To make her marriage, her home, her _husband._

Even thinking the word sent flutters through various parts of her.

But if was going to be an adjustment for _her_ , she could imagine what it would be like for _him._ A man who had firmly defined himself, for so very long, by this house and by his importance to the Grantham family. She thought back, to when Lady Mary had been engaged to Richard Carlisle, and their request for Mr. Carson to join them, at Haxby.

He'd almost gone, then, and she remembered how she herself had felt at the prospect of his departure: as if the great house would have a gaping hole in it, an essential, irreplaceable part of it, missing, forever. As would have her heart. She'd told him so, in as many words as she'd been able to, without revealing her soul completely.

It was strange to think that, at the time, she'd been more surprised at his abandonment of the house than his abandonment of her. But now, things had shifted. She laughed a little, shook her head. Listened to the late evening noises filtering in from the kitchen and the hallway beyond her door.

 _This will take some getting used to…_

She bent her head over her ledger, let herself get lost in the work for some time. It was a half an hour later than she realized someone was observing her. He stood there, with a bottle of wine, two glasses and a hangdog expression.

"Are you going to stand there, Mr. Carson, like a naughty school boy waiting to be reprimanded, or come in?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, and gently closed the door. She stood, twisting her neck a little. He set the glasses down, opened the wine with the ease of a master. She walked over to where he was standing, by her small side table. He handed her the drink, then stood gazing down at her, searching her face. He looked so _serious_ , so very dear, it seemed unimportant to her, at the moment, exactly where they got married, or how.

He took a deep breath, spoke: "Mrs. Hughes, I wanted to say that I'm –"

"Never mind, now," she interrupted, stepping closer to him. "Ye understand, I think, what I've been feeling." She paused, searching for the right words. What the disagreement about the wedding venue had _really_ been about. "Apologies are an important part of any relationship, Mr. Carson, especially marriage, I would expect. We'll probably say we're sorry to each other many, many times in the years to come. It's a guarantee like very little else in life." She smiled up at him, and was very glad when he returned it with one of his own.

"I'm not one for dramatic statements, but everything is going to change, after. That's what I'm afraid of, I think, not of having too posh a wedding in this glorious house," she tried to keep her voice light, playful, but she wasn't sure it was working.

"It _is_ going to change, completely," he replied, the last word a sigh.

"Does…does that make you sad, Mr. Carson? Regretful?"

"Regretful? Never. Sad? Perhaps, a little, Mrs. Hughes. This house, this family, has been the center of my life since I was little more than a boy. It won't be, any longer."

"And it's hardly an even exchange, is it?"

"No, it isn't," he took a step closer towards her. "Once you are my wife, I'll have far more than I ever imagined I could have, in all of my years in this house, more than I deserve, Mrs. Hughes. An even exchange? It's not even close."

His words flooded through her, a shock, like cold water in the morning. Already, their center was shifting, changing…she set her wine down, then took his carefully, and set it beside her. She stepped into his waiting arms. He was expecting her there, but not this –

She reached up, pulled his face down towards hers, and kissed him, there in her study. He kissed her back, running his fingers lightly over her hair.

Just them. Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes.


End file.
